


Find Your Pulse

by Wander (yoimwander)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M, Major Character Undeath, felix/locus if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:13:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26206993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoimwander/pseuds/Wander
Summary: When Felix dies, he doesn't become a ghost.
Relationships: Felix | Isaac Gates & Locus | Samuel Ortez, Felix | Isaac Gates/Locus | Samuel Ortez
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	Find Your Pulse

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Felix's death day. Hope you like it!
> 
> —

He’s thought a lot about this, you know.

 _Here Lies Felix,_ that’s the headline. _The most infamous mercenary in the universe._ Full stop, subtitle, in slightly smaller font beneath. No birth date. No "beloved son” shit. Just his codename, a day of death, and a rather sterling epitaph if he does say so himself.

What does he get?

 _Isaac Gates_. Carved into a smooth stone with subpar handwriting. Medium-sized. Lodged all lopsided into the dirt right on the edge of some private cliffside. No flowers. Unassuming.

Felix stands over his shallow grave, hands on hips, and thinks one loud, resounding, _lame_.

He’d shout it at the top of his lungs. Climb the tallest tower on the highest mountain in the most populated city on Chorus just to drag a megaphone out his ass so he could shout it louder, but guess what ladies and gentlemen. The afterlife? Totally real, and somehow even more lame than his disgustingly boring gravestone.

This is hell.

Now, he’s not really the religious sort, because everyone perma-closes their eyes at some point, one way or another, and what happens after doesn’t really matter because the here and now has things like bombshell blondes and money and power and that way a frightened pupil contracts when faced with violent inevitabilities. But he’d stumbled across Kimball after waking up and no matter how much he talked, or how many expletives and gruesome details he’d used while explaining how meticulously he’d do _what_ to all of her loved ones’ _you know whats_ , she hadn’t batted an eyelash.

Or, y’know, even tilted that cold helmet his way.

Like he wasn’t even there.

So yeah, he’s not that religious, but not being _heard?_

Hell.

A few things to take note of:

He can’t phase through walls or people. Closed doors have impact. Discovered this not by trying to sneak a peek into the women’s bathroom at a local bar, but by trying to slink into the FAC’s headquarters in the hopes there was some fancy new kill switch he could press that would just go ahead and detonate the whole planet, and him along with it.

No luck.

Next, he can’t eat. Figured that one two weeks in, because fuck does he _hunger_. It’s not like a pit in his stomach, but more like his stomach has _become a pit_. A yawning emptiness that doesn’t stop. A cold-sweat clench.

Absolute suck town.

Finally, the matter of impact, his presence on Chorus and the universe at large, which kinda goes hand-in-hand with the whole eating thing. Whatever he tries to pick up sits heavy and dense, or maybe like his muscles have atrophied so much that the weight of a pencil can best him now. Doesn’t matter. Nothing budges.

Like he’s part of the crowd, and not the show.

He doesn’t go crazy a month into this silent world he now inhabits, c’mon, you gotta give him more credit than that.

Five months, still steady, tentatively.

Eight months.

Eleven.

———

Figures.

Felix had his suspicions, but he saunters up to his shitty gravestone on the anniversary of his death because he had a hunch, and yeah, he’s dead right.

Ha.

Locus stands right where Felix imagined he would—about face, some sour look on his lips, like this display of, what, respect (?) could in any way make up for the fact that _this asshole got him murdered_. And to top it all off, the guy had gone through all the trouble of carving out the shittiest gravestone known to man- and alien-kind alike.

Hadn’t even used the right name.

What a bitch.

"So," he begins, voice some impossible mix of tight and flippant. Vocal box twitching as it gears up for the same type of one-sided conversation he's had with everyone this past year.

A little crazy?

Put him down for maybe.

"How do you wanna do this? We should open with small talk, right? What’s the weather like? Bet it's nice. Meanwhile I can't even feel the sun on my skin, so thanks for that."

He's angry. 

It manifests as heat sinking into his pores, as if he really can feel this sunny day. Which would, given his circumstances, be an actual delusion and the beginning of him slipping into madness. So definitely not that.

Just angry.

Weird thing about it, though?

Locus tenses up. His usual posture of 'pole vaulter whose pole got lodged firmly up their ass in some freak accident' stiffens even further, and Felix stands close enough to notice (personal space is a thing of the past when no one can feel him touch their arm or whap their back or beat them mercilessly in the back of the skull to release a bit of that, ah, pent up frustration).

"Yeah, bet you get off to this," Felix continues, and supplies the pieces of missing conversation by thinking _really hard_ about what the other person might say.

 _I don't get off to anything. Sex is icky,_ Locus replies.

"C'mon just admit it. Your self-righteous little honor boner is poppin just looking at this shitty grave you made me. And yeah, I mean _little._ "

_Okay fine, you got me. I enjoyed watching them kill you. I enjoyed turning on you at the last moment after you pulled my deadass from a pile of rubble. I enjoyed watching you struggle alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone, alone—_

Taps his temple to reset the record needle repeating cold, static words in his brain.

He places a hand on Locus' shoulder. Slides it around to the back of his neck, brushing over fine hair that the other man has grown out since the last time Felix saw him without his helmet on. Right at the start of their Chorus job, Locus had gotten himself a buzzcut like back in their military days, and Felix had been _unimpressed_.

Made the guy look so fucking average.

Casual fingers curl, then, until blunt nails dig harshly into the dark skin of a vulnerable neck.

Flesh indents beneath his touch.

Locus jumps back. Turns around with a wild expression and wide eyes meet wide eyes because what the fuck and also _how._

"Felix?"

It's spoken like that one word will conjure him back to the land of the living. Hell, it actually _might_ because suddenly the heat touching Felix's pores feels a lot like it's coming from the sun above them and not the little ball of fire in his spine that perpetually compels him to burn this whole fucking place to the ground. 

He takes a step back. Stretches a hand between them. Stares at Locus, then his own wiggling fingers, then back to Locus.

"You can see me?"

Laboring breath extends and concaves his ex-partner's barrel of a chest while the man looks at him like he's seen a ghost.

"You're _alive?_ "

Oh, now that's funny.

He takes full advantage of Locus' surprise and strides forward quickly while the other man is frozen in place. Plants both hands firmly on two broad shoulders. Marvels at how they give.

God, _alive?_

"No you fucking idiot."

Teeth bare around a peel of laughter. Air hiccups from Felix's chest like shards of glass scraping against each other. His grip tightens enough to bruise while broken giggles grow more frantic.

"I'm fucking _dead._ "

Locus tries to jerk away but Felix has sunk in and doesn't intend to let go. It feels good to _feel_ again. To see how his grip wrinkles black cotton on a long sleeved shirt. How the muscle is strong beneath his hands. He's still laughing even when Locus tries to dislodge him by placing a hand on his shoulder—solid, weighty. Warm.

With an open-mouthed grin, Felix turns his face towards Locus' extended arm and sinks his teeth into the meat of it.

Fuck, it's hilarious when he spasms and cries out. When he pulls away so quickly it tears flesh and fabric and Felix is left with a bitter, coppery taste splashed against his gums. He's shoved violently enough to make him careen back and land flat on his ass in the little field of soft grass leading up to the cliff's edge.

That doesn't make his frenzied laughter quell in the slightest.

Felix sits upright, curls his tongue against bloody teeth, and grins up at the man who got him killed one year ago today.

"So, you gonna apologize or what?"

———

At first, the prospect of Felix having faked his own death crops up.

Predictable. 

He reminds Locus what happens when a balloon filled with water drops from a dizzying height onto a hard surface. Provides the helpful anecdote that the human body is made up of about sixty percent water. You fall, you splat.

The guy should know. He'd gathered up the remains, after all, and very few of them had been within arm's reach of one another.

Well, that's what Felix assumes. He hadn't actually gotten the chance to see his own body. Woke up on some dark street in what he later came to know as the Chorus Residential City. Spotless. Unscathed.

Screaming.

Armor? Gone. Shredded down to his most basic features, but at least hell gave him a pretty nice suit to wear.

"Dig it up."

Felix had wanted to do that ever since he found his grave. An invisible string had tugged him in its direction until, several miles outside the Residential City, feet that left no soft indents in dirt stopped just inches from that remarkably plain headstone.

He couldn't pick up a shovel. Couldn't dig his fingers into the ground.

Locus won't stop staring at him. Which is fine, he's eating this shit up, like that somewhat terrified gaze brings him new life with how real and present and _here_ his skin feels.

"I— _No_."

"What? If you need proof, it's right there."

Felix waves irreverently at the little plot of land.

Locus curls his lip.

"I am not desecrating your grave."

Oh, that's fucking rich.

Felix presses an arm over his stomach and doubles over with laughter. The man who killed him? The man who betrayed him? Can’t even bring himself to dig a fucking a hole.

"No, see, you got it all wrong," Felix says after a delicious gasp of air. It's sweeter than any he's breathed in the last year. Tastes better knowing that Locus _sees_.

He wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye. Stares at the rip in black cotton on his ex-partner's arm and taps his tongue against a still-bloody incisor. He hadn’t taken a chunk out like intended, but he can see where his teeth had bit down and broken skin.

Maybe he’d relaxed his jaw a bit at the end there. He doesn’t recall.

"I wasn't asking."

———

He’s there. In pieces. 

Locus digs bare-handed until dirt and blood cakes beneath his fingernails.

"‘Attaboy,” Felix says, giggling wildly. He pats Loc on the back.

Makes him hold his skull up, tissue decomposed, so they can look at it together.

———

Locus tries ignoring him, as if not responding will make him go away. _Ha_ , fat chance in this literal hell will Felix allow that. 

He touches a broad chin. Gets his hand slapped away. Grabs a fistful of medium-length hair. Shoved off. Stretches up on tip-toe and screams in Locus' ear, shouts and raves and snarls just to watch the man flinch.

"Just how soft have you gotten?" Felix asks, jabbing a finger into Loc's stomach.

He wants to tear him down, rip his clothes off, slice open delicate veins, leave him broken and bare and shred him into little tiny pieces. Felix can't keep his hands to himself. He tried, for a solid minute. Tried tucking them beneath his armpits and standing at a respectable distance like any normal human should. But he's not exactly normal, and not exactly human, so these half-hearted efforts get tossed out the window with alarming ease.

Instead, he dances around Locus while the man takes long strides away from the gravesite.

"Do you think you're crazy? You think you went cuckoo don'tcha? I mean hell, that's as good an answer as anything else."

Locus doesn't reply—it strikes like a heavy blow to the gut, to be _ignored_ —and, oh, no no no, that isn't gonna happen. One year of silence, of cruel loneliness, had been enough, thanks. So he twirls around in front of the bigger man and smooshes himself thoroughly to Loc's chest.

It's enough to get him to freeze.

Giggling, Felix shoves his face into the crook of a vulnerable neck and breathes deeply. Warm. He rakes his teeth over a hammering pulse.

Gets pushed to the side before he can give a good lingering bite.

"God,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets and walking in lock-step next to Locus. His voice holds a manic edge, like an old hinge creaking.

"The things I’m gonna _do_ to you.”

It’s hard to contain his laughter, so he doesn’t even try.

———

Aboard _A'rynasea_ (and he only knows the name because Locus had called his ship to him like a damn dog, and Felix had watched, perplexed, while it came to heel) it’s a little cramped but he fits in the passenger seat just fine and doesn’t mind knocking knees (purposefully) with the cruel son of a bitch who might as well have pressed the barrel of his sniper to Felix’s head and pulled the trigger.

He doesn’t buckle up. He can’t.

But he splays out until every reasonable limb available to him makes contact with Locus in some way. Because Felix can actually feel it, or because he knows Locus can feel it too, well, it’s a toss up. Fifty-fifty tie for motive.

"So, where we headed to, traitor?”

Lolls his head to the side just to soak up the pained look on Loc’s face, and how his scar scrunches up with Felix’s cutesy little nickname.

"Stop.”

Blinking, Felix faces forward, contemplative. Well shit, the guy sounds outright haunted. Rough quality to his voice. Fingers clench the navigational controls of his ship in a way that really emphasizes the grave dirt still clinging to them. Loc gives that thousand-yard-stare Felix hasn’t seen since just after The Great War.

 _Good_.

He’ll explore that later. Maybe wait until Locus falls asleep and drag him from a dead slumber with a shout, a blisteringly bright yell. For now, he settles and basks in the knowledge that he’s seen, heard, felt. A little weird that Locus is the only one who’s acknowledged him since this whole ghost-but-somehow-lamer thing began. Or maybe it makes sense.

They used to be pretty close, after all.

It’s been years, hell, long before they set foot on Chorus to even begin with (and, sidenote, fuck _yes_ he’s finally getting off this shitty planet, thank you _A'rynasea_ ), but sad as the fact is, Locus is the only remaining person alive who knows his name.

 _Isaac Gates_. 

Yeah, still a stupid gravestone.

"What’s up with that anyways?” Felix asks, as if Locus is privy to his thoughts. "Thought that little bit of _human_ left inside ya shriveled up and died years ago.”

He thinks really hard about the reply.

 _People change, Isaac_ , Locus says, distorted words ringing in his head.

Felix lowers his voice into a mocking replication of his ex-partner’s droll tone.

" _Codenames_.”

Smiles with a shadow hanging over his eyes when he tilts his head to look over at Locus again.

 _I didn’t want you anymore,_ that inner Loc voice continues, nice and cold just like he remembers. _Didn’t need you._

"Bullshit. I’ve always been the better half.”

_You were a monster._

"And you were a machine. We all got our hangups, bud.”

The face in front of him—the _real_ Locus sitting pretty in the pilot’s seat—contorts in confusion.

"What’s that look all about?”

 _I hate that you’re here._ Locus doesn’t open his mouth to speak, but Felix hears the words come from his direction all the same. Blinks.

"So how long did it take you to pick up the pieces? Like, the _literal_ piec—”

" _F_ _elix._ ”

His name jitters through him. Spoken much clearer than the fabricated Locus in his head. Sunshine heat splays itself over every inch of his skin, but they just broke the atmosphere and _A'rynasea_ is climate controlled, so it can’t be that. The yawning chasm of hunger ever present in his stomach feels decidedly like the sweetest drop of honey has just slid down his throat and settled in his belly. Doesn’t quite fill it up, but it’s _something_. The first bite of food after a year of starvation.

Felix gives a full body shudder with it. The fine hairs on his arms raise beneath prickly goosebumps. 

"Say it again,” he demands, eyes going from wild and twistedly amused to dead serious.

A pronounced Adam’s apple bobs thickly.

Locus doesn’t speak.

———

"C’mon, Loc, you can do better for yourself than _this_.”

Arms spread wide, Felix twirls on his heel in the middle of an unfamiliar living room in an unassuming one bedroom apartment. Locus toes his shoes off at the entranceway, locks the door, then strides immediately down a narrow hall, flicking on a lightswitch as he goes.

Felix follows hot on his trail.

"So what, jobs have been slow? Not so efficient at the one man army thing? Or— wait, is it— _no_.”

Arms crossed, he leans his shoulder against the door frame leading to the bathroom and watches Loc bend in front of the sink. Flick on the faucet. Fill the white ceramic basin. Splash water over his face. He catches grey eyes (tinged in stuttering red) in the mirror, and offers an amused grin.

"You’ve turned over a new leaf, haven’t you? Everything we ever worked for, the money, the fame, and you just throw it away for, what, a clean moral conscience?”

His stomach clenches. Like he might be sick, might just vom all over the bathroom tile, but of course there’s nothing to regurgitate, so he just stands there with unblinking eyes until that tight ill feeling in the pit of his belly runs through its violent flutter.

When it passes, Felix unfurls his arms and steps with purpose into the bathroom. Grabs Locus by the back of the head. Shoves his face harshly into the little pool of water he’d filled up in the sink. Locus breaks the hold quickly. Turns on him with a snarl, warm hand around his throat, walking Felix backwards until his back hits the wall and he’s held in place.

Dark fingers tighten.

He looks good like that. Wet-faced and angry. Felix lifts his hand and brushes fingers lightly against the knob of Loc's wrist. Makes no attempt to dislodge him.

Locus releases him quickly with eyes that reflect like a prey animal having blundered into the path of its natural predator. Takes a stumbling step away.

Felix leans heavily against the wall. Tips his head back.

"You can’t kill me twice.”

He touches his throat, pulse knocking around uselessly beneath his fingers, knowing his skin won’t bruise but kinda wishing it would.

———

On Monday, Felix sees his very first shrink.

Well, technically she’s not _his_ , but he’s lounging on a dark blue chaise with arms crossed behind his head and stares over at Locus as the guy goes through this whole … what, therapy session?

Like, okay, Felix has joked about this sorta thing before but holy shit it’s actually true?

Locus isn’t Locus here, just Sam. Has enough makeup caked across his face to hide the scar, which is all sorts of plain and boring. He sits in an armchair across from a stout little lady with brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses. Coffee table between ‘em. Felix boring a hole into the side of "Sam’s” _unscarred_ face.

"You look so different like that,” Felix comments.

"And he’s in the room now?” the shrink asks, crossing her legs and smoothing down a black skirt.

"Yes,” Locus replies, ignoring Felix like he’s been doing for the past few days.

Which sucks, but Felix has coped by playing a little game of _how long can I keep Locus awake before he actually loses what’s left of his mind_. On the morning of day three, after spending yet another sleepless night with Felix by his bedside, singing quite loudly and joyfully out of tune at the top of his lungs, he finally cracks and, well.

Now they’re here.

"Can you tell me what he’s saying?” she continues, scribbling something into a small notebook.

"You're worried I'm gonna touch you in the no-no spot when you finally do get some sleep, aren't ya?"

Felix moves a hand so he can cup one side of his mouth to better project his voice.

"C'mon, Loc, you know me better than that."

"He's …" A quiet pause, Locus flicking a flat look over at Felix, unable to ignore him for long. "... bored."

More scribbles.

"Have you had any unexpected stressors in your life recently?"

"Even if I am pretty damn curious to see if you actually have any balls left." Felix grins, splays out an arm and curls his fingers, palm up, to fondle the air lewdly.

"Other than this?" Locus replies, turning his face away once again. "No."

"Well," the therapist continues, setting her pencil and notepad on the table between them.

"I suggest getting as much rest as possible. You said you've had trouble sleeping?"

Locus nods.

"Then I'm going to write you a prescription for estazolam. Don't drink when you take it."

She pulls out a prescription pad and half a minute later Locus is sent out the door with a chicken scratch paper in hand. He clutches it tightly.

Felix peeks over his arm. Whistles airily.

"Well that was an experience. My first therapy session _ever_. Wasn't so bad, but man, I didn't feel very listened to, ya know?"

He pats Locus on the shoulder.

"Don't worry, big guy. Take all the drugs you want. I'm not going anywhere."

———

Locus is knocked so thoroughly out that not even Felix banging his fist repetitively against the headboard can wake him.

He gives up an hour into trying to annoy the unresponsive. That yawning chasm in his stomach twists. Ignored, alone, quiet. It's physical for him now. Has been ever since he woke up like this—some shifting _thing_ not quite alive, but with none of those ghostly perks.

Exhausted with this entire situation, Felix kicks off his shoes and hops into bed. Settles above the covers, back propped up against the headboard, close enough to touch Loc’s lax forehead if he were to reach out.

He doesn’t.

"You were supposed to kill _them_ , you know. Not me.”

He stares at the other man’s lips, and even though they don’t move, he still hears a distorted version of Locus’ voice. Which, yeah yeah, he knows that’s batshit crazy. He’s perfectly aware. But that doesn’t mean he can get it to stop.

_No more killing._

A manic laugh bubbles in his chest that he bottles up. Pressure builds. He’s a shaken soda can.

"Right. So you just stood there and watched them kill _me_.”

_I’m a monster. Like you._

"You say that a lot. But I never thought of you as a monster.”

Silence.

"I mean, a fuckin _weirdo_ , sure. But monster? Don’tcha think that’s a little heavy handed?”

 _You would have killed me_.

That’s right. The last thing he ever said to Locus. _You can die with the rest of them_. True?

"Maybe."

He could do it now. Pinch Loc’s nose, cover his mouth with a heavy hand. Or just get a good grip around the man’s neck. Squeeze hard enough to close his trachea. It could be cathartic. His first after-death kill. Last one, too, since Loc seems to be the only person capable of interacting with him in any way, even if he refuses to acknowledge Felix’s existence well over half the time (at least until clever fingers find their way into Loc’s hair, or jab into the small of his back—any delicate part Felix can exploit).

Staring at the way Locus breathes nice and steady in deep slumber, Felix traces his tongue across his teeth.

Shit, those drugs must be doing wonders because he’s never seen the guy look so peaceful. Tucked neatly under the covers. One arm slung around a pillow that he holds close to chest. Loose t-shirt does nothing to cover the bandage wrapped around a toothy, shallow wound.

Felix stares at white gauze. Just beneath is evidence, solid _proof_ that he exists. The first thing he’s moved, touched, tasted in a year. He’d started to wonder if he was really there at all. But that’s his mark. Branded on Locus’ skin. Physical. Unmistakable. If he unwrapped the bandage, widened his jaw, and pressed white teeth against Loc’s arm, he’d find the exact rivets that fit him like a glove.

This knowledge strokes down his spine. Causes a soothing, prickly shiver.

Yeah, he could kill Loc, maybe.

But does he really want to?

———

"Say my name again.”

"No.”

"Why not?”

"Why are you so obsessed with this?”

"Cause it feels _good_. Listen, I know you’ve never come even once in your entire mechanical life, but it’s like getting off. If getting off was eating. Basically, it’s the _best_.”

" … That in no way encourages me to say your name.”

"Asshole.”

———

"Why Isaac Gates?"

_To annoy you._

"Yeah yeah, doesn't really seem like your kinda MO though. So give me a better reason."

_There is no better reason. Felix is the name you chose for yourself. Why would I honor that?_

Sickness sits heavy in his stomach. The aching empty. It settles on the rare occasion Locus looks at him, but comes crawling back within days after that slight bit of relief.

"Why do you do that?" Locus asks, his hands busy washing dishes in the sink. His hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. He's wearing black sweats and a grey tee, dressed down and settled in for the night.

Felix had been lounging against the arm of the couch like a lazy cat. He perks up.

"Do what?"

Loc sets a square ceramic plate on a drying rack. Starts rinsing soapy bubbles off a bowl. Doesn't look his way.

"Talk to yourself."

Head tipped slightly, Felix blinks at him.

"I'm not talking to myself. I'm talking to you."

For some reason, that gets Locus' attention. He sets the bowl back in the sink and turns to cast his gaze through the kitchen and into the living room. Dries sudsy hands on a dish towel.

After a long silence, he turns back around to the counter and starts drying clean dishes lined up on the rack.

"I wrote your name," he says, voice barely projecting enough to even carry out of the kitchen, but Felix hears it.

"Because I didn't want to lose it."

———

Surprisingly enough, it’s not Felix who goes in search of all the missing pieces that point to what he is.

Locus had clearly considered him some broken delusion at first, but when plenty of bed rest hadn’t done shit to dispel him, some other answer had to be found. Guy just can’t leave anything alone, now can he? Not that Felix minds. He’s had a burning curiosity for an entire fucking year after all. Just wasn’t capable of doing anything other than watch _other_ people use the internet.

And boy, some people have really strange taste in porn.

Unrelated to the search Loc is on now, but still an important fact.

"I mean what is axillism _even_?”

Locus clacks away on a laptop. His whole place is rather spartan. The shitty plastic chair he occupies that’s way too small for his build emphasizes this point. Guy really needs to splurge a little bit. Even if "splurge” for him would probably be like … buying an extra rag to clean his gun, fuck if Felix knows.

He hops up on the desk, weight not visceral enough to shift it, and stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankles. Stares at the way Locus stares at the screen. Felix contorts his features to best replicate the grumpy look. Brows pulled down. Lower lip jutting forward so slightly. Eyes squinted in concentration.

"Your face will get stuck like that, you know.”

"I’m a totem.”

Okay well, not exactly related to the conversation at hand but it’s some form of acknowledgement so Felix will take it.

"You’re a what now?”

Twists around to peer over at the screen. It’s a mix of pages, tabs at the top leading down some rabbit hole that apparently consists of _Ghosts: What Are The Signs?_ , and _Physical Traits of Supernatural Bodies_ , and _Ethereal, Ephemeral, or Corporeal_ , and the last one, the page Locus is on now: _The Power of Belief_.

Huh.

"What, you gonna take me to church?”

Tilts his head, raising a thin eyebrow at his ex-partner.

Locus looks at him, then. Really looks at him. Some dead-set glint in grey eyes. Not through him or around him. Sticks his attention in Felix like a nail pinning a bug to a board.

"Felix."

Spoken like any other word he might say, nothing special about it, and yet it rings like a bell and echoes in the halls of Felix's empty soul _._ Electricity sparks through his skin and turns a quiet existence from black and white to _vibrant_. He shudders. A manic grin curls his lips.

"Yeah," he practically purrs, splaying a hand over Locus' cheek. Curls fingers to cup his jaw and hold that achingly sweet attention in place. "That's the good stuff."

He can't explain it. Doesn't know why hearing Locus say his name feels so gratifying. He could liken it to a million different things. Lightning roaring down to char a lonely oak. That first gasp of oxygen after swimming underwater for far too long. Like grey eyes can search between muscle and sinew and dig deep enough to find his pulse.

It doesn't matter.

Slowly, grip firm enough to keep Loc in place, Felix leans in until his lips brush over the shell of a listening ear.

"Now say it again."

———

When Felix dies, he doesn't become a ghost.

He becomes a god.


End file.
